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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807023">Whirl Twirl Twist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpensUp4Nobody/pseuds/OpensUp4Nobody'>OpensUp4Nobody</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also a lot of rubbish and rambling, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mostly it's james having a bad time, Technically this is a star trek AU but that's not really important, bc in this house we make james fitzjames suffer, but only for the sake of comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:15:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpensUp4Nobody/pseuds/OpensUp4Nobody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I could deal with the conditions on that frozen hellscape of a planet. I could deal with the physical injuries I sustained in my crash. I could even deal with the loneliness of those miserable fifteen days and the fact I was so absolutely sure rescue would never come that it didn’t even seem worth taking another step. I could deal with all of that, but for god’s sake, Francis, the damn ship won’t stop spinning and I'm afraid I'll shake to pieces."</p><p>Or, in the wake of an away mission gone terribly wrong, James can’t seem to stop the metaphorical world around him from spinning out of control.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francis Crozier &amp; James Fitzjames</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Whirl Twirl Twist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a star trek au purely bc that what I'm most comfortable with setting and lingo wise. Think TOS but it doesn’t really matter, I just wanted the scifi.</p><p>Should probably add a warning here that James is dealing with a touch of the traumas so be warned there shall be some flashing back and self-blaming</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James Fitzjames is spinning.</p><p>Twisting.</p><p>Spiraling.</p><p>Violently downward.</p><p>Toward some unknown planet. Toward a place desolate and hostile. A place where it is never warm, on the edge of habitability. The very very edge.</p><p>He is plastered to his seat, held firmly in place by the overwhelming force of the ship’s death spiral. His jaw clenched so tightly he'd worry about breaking his teeth if he didn’t have other things to worry about. All the air has been pushed from his lungs and he can't take it back. Vision prickling with darkness, he sits paralyzed, hoping or maybe praying that his death will be instant because survival seems so far beyond reach that he can't even think the word, but then he can't seem to form any thoughts with all the shrieking alerts going off across the various consoles surrounding him.</p><p>Stupid. Stupid. Spectacularly and jaw droppingly stupid. How could he take on a task so ridiculously foolish? What self-destructive impulse had sent him hurtling along this path?</p><p>He is going to die. And for what? The data he's collected will be for nothing if he never makes it back. And he won’t make it back. So, it’s all been pointless. One more glamorously dangerous mission, but this time he’s gone a step too far. Perhaps that serves him right. All actions have consequences after all.</p><p>He can see from the flashing display to his right that his descent is too rapid. But checking wasn’t necessary, he can feel it in his gut. In his chest. In his teeth. The dread has crept into his very bones. But he’s lost control of the ship and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and continue his hoping... his desperate, directionless praying.</p><p>But then, despite his closed eyes, he blinks and finds himself suddenly stationary. Motionless. Dead still. <em>Dead </em>still. But he is standing freely rather than being held by the invisible straps of unchecked rotation.</p><p>Someone is speaking to him but his mind is still some unknown distance away, caught in the inertia of his... his memories? They feel like more than memories. They have weight and texture; sticky so that he must wrench himself free of them. Or, more often than naught, fail to do so. But that must be what they are: his memories. Not ripples in time sending him back to those eternally long few moments. Not projections by some adversary, forcing him to experience some dreadful event with the purpose of breaking him down. Nothing more than ordinary memories; his memories.</p><p>A contrast to his rapidly whirring mind, James' body is heavy and uncooperative, but not as he momentarily thought, completely immobile. He must remember how to use it. Remember how to still his hammering heart or it might burst from his chest. If only he could focus…</p><p>He catches the words “warp core”, which travel to him from the mouth of Captain John Franklin and he's found his foothold. He can climb back to steady ground. Or he can at least make an attempt.</p><p>His external awareness seems to be returning slowly, but then he also seems to be operating within a different phase of time, his mind smeared to a blur of thought as everything around him moves in slow motion.</p><p>Regardless, he must reorient himself. Where is he?</p><p>He knows this place, this familiar place where he stands. It isn't the med-bay... of course it's not. Why would it be? He was released... How long ago? Days? Weeks? Longer? He isn't sure. He should know this but his brain is still refusing to obey him and, distractingly, he can feel himself dying. Something inside him is still spinning, roiling in his chest even though he's stopped moving. But he must be fine because the Captain apparently hasn't noticed. But is he looking? Would he help? Or does he assume that James has everything under control?</p><p>Focus: Where is he?</p><p>He isn’t on Erebus. Were it Erebus, he would be standing in the Captain’s personal quarters. No, he must be standing in the officer’s room aboard Terror. There, he has his orientation. He has regained enough control to glance about the room. Lieutenant Commanders Little and Le Vesconte are also in attendance. They are discussing… They are discussing the damage done to the ships after the last attack. Attack by what? Unknown. As in: beyond the capacity of their scanners to decern.</p><p>It’s something dark and formless, blocking out the stars but not with any consistent patterning. And it’s been following them. Stalking. Maybe since they made their transition into the uncharted regions of space like a printed map decoration come to life.</p><p>That last attack was… maybe twelve hours ago but they have been without warp power for the last twelve days. Now, all efforts to bring the engines online have failed and the attitudes of the crew have taken on a panicked edge. What they need is strong leadership and bold ideas. But Captain Franklin is revealing himself to be an artifact of times gone by while his second Captain remains absent in the grips of withdrawal and his once Commander is at times only present in the physical sense. Have they only just begun to lose the thread? Or did they start this mission already unraveling?</p><p>"I think..." James is almost startled at the sound of his own voice and not entirely aware of what he's saying, but it must not be anything too strange because the others nod along seriously, the Captain included. That's not right. He'd meant to disagree with Sir John. They should be focused on analyzing what's wrong before they proceed. That way they can target their corrections. Not troubleshoot down known pathways as they have been doing.</p><p>But the words keep flowing past his lips and the meeting finds its end as the Erebites make their way to the transporter room from whence they came.</p><p>"Well, James," Sir John clasps his shoulder. "You are dearly missed aboard Erebus. Though I know you have everything well in hand here, one hopes that Francis will be back in commission soon so that you might return to us."</p><p>"Thank you, Sir." James gives his best attempt at a winning smile. Somewhere in that mess of words, the ship has started to spin: tight circles, around and around, pressing his lungs into contraction. He can feel it even though he knows they aren’t actually moving and he struggles to remain upright. Still, the smile seems to have met its mark because the Captain is smiling back. Then Le Vesconte clasps him on the shoulder with a whispered: "Perhaps not too soon, <em>Captain</em>." Before following Sir John onto the transporter pad.</p><p>Captain Franklin nods to the officer manning the transporter and in a glimmer of light they have returned to Erebus, leaving James to fight his way out of the room without stumbling.</p><p>He can feel that it is late, it must be nearly oh-one hundred hours, but James' legs do not carry him to his quarters. He instead finds himself on the observation deck, staring out at the stars and not really seeing them. Because he’s not looking or because that creature is blocking his view? Or maybe all the stars have disappeared. Maybe they blinked out of existence or they were swallowed and extinguished by the void of space, the laws of physics having suddenly gone rogue. It wouldn’t be unprecedented, nothing out here behaves the way it’s supposed to.</p><p>"James." The voice of Francis Crozier seems to resonate from nowhere, startling the acting Captain enough that he jumps, spinning toward the man standing half in the doorway.</p><p>"Francis," he gives a shaky laugh, unsettled back into the body he hadn’t realized he’d left.</p><p>"Have the officers gone?" Francis asks, allowing the door to slide closed behind him as he advances into the room. He’s not in full uniform, a dark long sleeve where there should be command gold.</p><p>"Yes, they... Well..." Words are like lead on his tongue; heavy enough to not make him terribly coherent. Or maybe that’s just Francis’ presence. He always did feel that Francis could see clean through him. It doesn’t help that James has been knocked clean out of orbit, not having expected to see the true Captain of Terror upright and clear eyed. And his eyes are clear, not the clouded misery he's seen in the first year and a half of their travel. He appears exhausted for sure, but it's as though a shroud of separation has been pulled aside, as though he is finally present. "Yes, they have gone." He finishes with more strength, attempting to internally right himself.</p><p>"And you are here." He nods around the observation deck, traveling closer, hands clasped behind his back. "Not chatting to some poor Lieutenant, or writing reports or—god forbid—sleeping."</p><p>"I am here." He nods, dimly aware that his behavior must be coming off odd, but he can't seem to reign himself in.</p><p>"Any particular reason why?" he presses, not with hostility but with a light touch.</p><p>Again, James sense of orientation is slipping. "Just needed to clear my head a bit," he manages, offering a weak half smile.</p><p>Francis raises an eyebrow. "Away from the influence of Erebus?"</p><p>The influence of Erebus... He must think James is enjoying command of his own ship. No, he is not attempting to escape the influence of Erebus. Erebus is a fine ship and he was comfortable enough as her second officer. More comfortable than he has been as first on Terror, but then the circumstances have been... they have not been ideal. But perhaps though Francis question has missed the mark, it has landed closer than is comfortable. Close enough to make him squirm.</p><p>James knows he should laugh off the comment, or perhaps get defensive around his acting command. But he says nothing, as his eyes once again seek out the stars which are back and burning far too brightly, so his gaze slips to the floor as he tries not to fly apart.</p><p>"Why don’t you have a seat, James." Francis steers him to one of the work benches with a gentle hand to his shoulder. Francis himself hesitates a moment more as he locks the door through which he appeared and takes the seat across the bench from James.</p><p>"Now, what is it you need to clear your mind of?" Francis’ tone is warm, his words kind, and above all he is steady despite the blurring world around him.</p><p>James wonders for a moment if he’s wandered into some strange dream. This is a side of Francis that he’s not seen, a side that falls more in line with what he's read from official reports and heard from crewmen accounts. More in line with the Francis Crozier who guided his crew safely through uncharted space and who had the respect of those serving under him. Not the Francis Crozier who made himself miserable with drink, stole spirits from James’ personal stock, and who had not so very long ago punched James in the face. And despite these still recent transgressions, James feels the pull of a confession. But knows that like carbonated liquid in a shaken and corked bottle, all will come rocketing out if he pulls the stop. And why should he lay his neuroses upon the shoulders of Captain Francis Crozier? He'll have other things to worry about once he's back in command. The sorry state of James Fitzjames need not add to those worries.</p><p>What would he care anyway? Francis had made clear that he couldn’t stand Commander Fitzjames from the moment they’d met. Not in so many words but when their eyes met that first time, when the officers for their current mission convened, his gaze screamed: I see you and you are nothing. This impression was only confirmed by their further interactions.</p><p>"James," Francis presses. He has leaned forward onto the workbench. Elbow and forearm laid parallel to his chest; fingertips pressed to the table top screen which is suddenly alight, eager for instruction.</p><p>James takes a breath, easing forward onto his elbows, fingers tightly laced before him. The coolness of the screen connecting him to the rest of the ship so at least then maybe they'll spin together. "I..." he starts in hesitation. There is so much to say and words remain beyond his control. "I suppose I have some memories I can’t seem to let loose." His sorry attempt at a laugh comes out weak and shaky to even his own ears.</p><p>Francis nods slowly, fingers tapping softly against the table top, inadvertently flicking through star charts and allowing James' thin smile to linger a moment longer, the second half more real than the first.</p><p>"I'd be more shocked if you didn’t," Francis remarks, absently clearing the screen with another tap of his fingers. "It was no small thing that happened."</p><p>"I know." Too well he knows. "But I have been on failed missions before. Suffering and the consequences of suffering are something I can understand. But these memories... they follow me in a different way."</p><p>"These missions before, you were in command for some of them." It's more statement than question, more like he’s considering the implications.</p><p>"On a few, yes," James replies anyway. Despite his unsteadiness, part of him still prickles at the implication that he is ill suited to a leadership position, especially from this man.</p><p>"I'd ask the circumstances, but I imagine I've heard them all before." There is a smile in those words but—again departing from the typical—they do not sound unkind.</p><p>"More than once I'd imagine," James agrees sheepishly.</p><p>Francis hums, leaning back slightly as his eyes track across the Commander’s face. "What is different about this mission?"</p><p>James considers this for a moment. "I pressed the captain to let me go, knowing it would be devastatingly dangerous. But that's not terribly far apart from the typical... I think perhaps... I just felt I'd miscalculated my own abilities. When I didn’t make my turn and the engines began to fail. It was like I'd jumped into a pool expecting to be able to touch the bottom and when there was nothing underfoot, I suddenly found I couldn't swim." He can still feel the violent shuddering of the ship, the desperate pressing at the controls as he began to drift, unable to escape the gravity of the nearest planet as the plasma storm blazed around him.</p><p>"Ah, hubris, the downfall of many a great explorer.” Francis smiles in a melancholy sort of way, pausing to lean forward before he speaks again. “We all have our limits, James, that’s what makes us human. And there are times when we can’t sense our own limits until they’ve been overstepped. Sometimes that’s just the way it is. So, you miscalculated, there’s nothing to be done about it now. You didn’t know it was going to happen. You were taking a risk like you have done a hundred times before, by your telling, and this time you failed. It happens."</p><p>James bears the words like a weight as he laces his fingers tighter, head bowing toward the table. Logically, he knows these things, he’s repeated some variation to himself countless times. It’s what he would tell any other officer, so why can’t he accept them? Why do his thoughts keep catching? Why is he still trapped in rotation?</p><p>"What’s important is that you survived," Francis continues.</p><p>James gives a bitter laugh. It was beyond him how he’d not been smashed to pieces. He'd crawled from his wrecked ship with a few cracked ribs, a rather nasty concussion, and whiplash but undeniably alive. When he journeyed outside the wrecked runabout, he was met with a planet so cold that he could feel the chill through the thermal suit he’d found with the emergency supplies. He was fortunate enough that his ration packs remained undamaged, but not fortunate enough to have an easy way off planet. The atmosphere was too thick in the valley where he landed to transmit a distress signal. So, he’d had to make a trek up the nearest mountain in gravity a little more than one and a half times earth’s. And when he’d finally sent the distress signal after a five days struggle, it was another ten days before the plasma storms cleared enough for him to be collected. Ten miserable days he’d spent absolutely positive that the storms would never clear. That his ration packs mapped out a timeline to his ultimate end. And that he would die cold, starving, and only just out of reach.</p><p>In all he’d spent fifteen days alone on a frozen world where there was no sun but the sky was ablaze at all hours with heatless flames. It would have been a beautiful and terrible place to die. But he was instead beamed aboard Terror half frozen, beyond exhausted, and suffering the early symptoms of pulmonary edema.</p><p>By some miracle, he had survived.</p><p>"At what cost?" he wonders aloud, shoving the memories aside in favor of bitterness. "I could deal with the conditions on that frozen hellscape of a planet. I could deal with the physical injuries I sustained in my crash. I could even deal with the loneliness of those miserable fifteen days and the fact I was so absolutely sure rescue would never come that it didn’t even seem worth taking another step. I could deal with all of that, but for god’s sake, Francis, the damn ship won’t stop spinning and I'm afraid I'll shake to pieces. It's not the planet that haunts me, it's my damned descent. I can’t even speak with Sir John without feeling like I've been cast into a whirlpool.” His throat has gone tight and his eyes burn with unshed tears.</p><p>"Do you resent him for sending you?"</p><p>"The Captain?” James blinks, startled. “No, I- this isn't his fault. I asked for this mission."</p><p>The astrophysicists had been in a tizzy over the gravitational anomaly they’d picked up on long range sensors. Rumor had it they’d be passing near a huge grouping of plasma storms. No one had ever flown close enough to get a good reading on a proper plasma storm, monitoring probes never seemed to survive to collection, and no one had been crazy enough to attempt a flyby scan. James had been happy to make an attempt for himself with Sir John's full support.</p><p>"John should have had the good sense to say no," Francis argues. "He was your commanding officer. The failure is with him not you."</p><p>"But I insisted- I-"</p><p>"It is a Captain's job to know the limits of his crew. You say that you felt you stepped beyond your limits; he should have stopped you."</p><p>"You tried to stop me,” James says, his voice a near whisper. “You knew the mission was beyond my capacity." That had stung greatly at the time, knowing that Francis thought he would fail. But that had only doubled his desire to try. After all, what did Francis know? He was a drunk and a thief. Had he not gone to the med-bay, the blow Francis had landed would still be blooming bright upon his cheek as he spiraled to his near certain doom.</p><p>The Irishman gives a small shake of his head. "I knew it was beyond the capacity of most men and I wasn't willing to risk any life we didn’t have to. If I had the clarity of mind, I would have fought harder against it." He stops, his voice having raised by degree. He takes a breath and releases it as he uncurls his now clenched fist. "So, no James this is not all on you."</p><p>"Francis...." He aches to protest, but what help would that be? What’s done is done. There is no going back. For him or for anyone else. “How do I move past this?” he gasps. It sounds somehow more like a confession than a question, quiet and pleading and his voice so very, very small. Something to be said in the dark, out of place in this room where his face is lit from below and any control he may have had over his expression has long sense been abandoned.</p><p>“Try living with it before you try moving past it.” Francis grimaces. “It’s a thing that happened to you, and it has caused you harm, but you have your whole life ahead to make those memories smaller in comparison to everything else. And the pain may not ever fully disappear, but you can adapt and grow around it.” He pauses. “James, look at me."</p><p>He waits for the acting Captain to lift his face, his hands reach across the table and clasp James' own hands, which are still too tightly laced. "You are here. You are not spinning. And you are not at fault." He punctuates each statement with a tap of both their hands against the table.</p><p>James eyes are trapped by his gaze even as the workbench below them continues to flip through star charts, casting a flickered blue light upon their faces.</p><p>"I don’t deserve this position," the words tumble out, not stopping for the confusion that flits across Francis' face. "Every advance I’ve ever made has been political or in some way underhand. I only gained entrance to the academy because the outpost where I was admitted was so desperate for recruits, they overlooked my forged paperwork.”</p><p>“Why did you have to forge your paperwork?”</p><p>“My father was a corrupt and disgraced Admiral. Granted, I was just a lowly bastard sent away to grow up on a tiny far-off colony, but he managed to piss off enough brass that no one would touch me if they’d known. So, I took my forged documents and at age sixteen began politicking my way out into deeps space. I only landed this position because I saved Admiral Barrow's son from a scandal. That’s all. It just seems I’m finally reaping what was sown." There, he’d shown his belly. Spilled his guts. He’s always been so terrified of anyone finding out that he’s avoided even thinking about the topic for fear of provoking some nebulous force of ill luck. Now it’s out in open air, lingering over the table between them as Francis considers what he’s said.</p><p>"It’s you that passed the entrance exam, yes?” he finally asks.</p><p>“Yes, but-“</p><p>“You who survived fifteen bloody days on a barely M class planet.”</p><p>“But I-“</p><p>“And it’s you who has been operating Terror in my stead."</p><p>James stares at the Captain for a long moment before he finally nods.</p><p>Francis gives a laugh. "So, what does it matter where you started? You've done well James. You've somehow managed to keep this ship running despite the circumstances. So, do try not to be so hard on yourself, yes?"</p><p>James gives another sharp nod, words caught in his throat, burning his insides but at least the spinning as stilled. Francis, seems to have caught whatever had him turning, holding it still for a moment. James focuses hard, resolving to commit his touch to memory. Maybe he can etch the thought of Francis hands on his into something solid, something tangible. Soft and warm and sturdy. Then perhaps he can pit one memory against the other.</p><p>He is here. He is not spinning. And perhaps, <em>perhaps</em> he is not at fault. At least not entirely.</p><p>"Thank you, Francis," he finally manages. "I hope... I hope we might be friends moving forward."</p><p>"I hope so too," Francis smiles, at last unclasping his hands and taking a stand, fingertips pressed again to the table. "Damn these touch screens," he laughs as the display again changes.</p><p>James smiles, brushing his hands back. "Let's see where you've landed us."</p><p>“An unnamed system, it would seem.” Francis remarks at the string of numbers at the bottom of the screen.</p><p>“I think this is the system we passed three days ago,” James observes. “Yes.” He taps at the tiny grouping of satellites orbiting the central star. “This star has two gas giants that are tossing moons back and forth.” He points to the simulated orbit of the moons.</p><p>“Looks like I have some catching up to do on our data collection,” Francis hums.</p><p>That startles a thought into James’ clouded mind. “What did you come in here for anyhow?”</p><p>“Ah, well, I finally felt well enough to leave my quarters and I was feeling nostalgic for my days in astronomy.”</p><p>“Sorry to have distracted you,” James laughs, “I should probably be getting back to my quarters.”</p><p>“Not at all,” the Captain assures, “I’ll walk with you, I think I’ve had enough excitement for the night.”</p><p>James shuts off the display and throws a glance about the room before they exit. It’s strange, he feels more present than he has since taking the captaincy and that alone is making everything seem a little less real than usual.</p><p>"James.” Francis catches his sleeve before they begin to walk. “You are welcome to stay until it is truly morning, or if you like, return to Erebus."</p><p>"I think I shall stay." It’s unlikely that he’ll sleep but he’s not sure he’s ready to return to Captain Franklin’s side just yet.</p><p>"Very well, and would you object to having breakfast with me in the officer’s room?"</p><p>"I would be happy to. After which I can debrief you on all that has transpired in your absence, assuming that Yeoman Jopson hasn’t done so already."</p><p>“I always like to check his work,” Francis assures. "Very good. Then I will see you in a few hours. Sleep well, James."</p><p>"Goodnight, Francis...” He is unable to articulate whatever feeling has taken hold in his chest in the absence of motion. “I… Thank you." That will have to mange for now.</p><p>Francis nods with a steady smile, wandering back the way they’ve come. James glances around the corridor, suddenly realizing he's been walked home. With a huff of laughter and shake of his head, he taps at the door, which slides open to his sparse temporary quarters.</p><p>He heads for the window, rather than his bed. And he watches the stars, really watches them. He’s not sure what he’s looking for. Maybe he’s watching for an abstract shifting of the surrounding darkness or maybe he’s just appreciating them while they are standing still.</p><p>Nevertheless, as he stands with hands clasped and fights against the dark, whirling currents of his mind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sigh... I can’t believe I've made this a terror fic bc the hubris is so much to unpack and it’s prob ooc but fuck it, I needed this out of my brain to move forward</p><p>If u happen to be dealing with some sticky memories, it may be helpful to find something neutral with which to ground yourself like the smoothness of the surface of your nails or the fabric of your shirt. Something to hold onto as u try to wrench yourself away from the memories.</p><p>I’m opens-up-4-nobody on tumblr if you wanna say hi</p><p>Thanks</p></blockquote></div></div>
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